State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)
Melinda Salisbury
The Humpback Bridge
The Humpback Bridge had stood for almost a millennium, the sole link between the nations of Rhannon and Rhylla. It was an impressive sight; at the bridge’s peak it curved over one hundred feet above the River Archior, spanning a vast body of water that flowed aquamarine in summer and gravestone grey in winter.
The bridge was made from starlight, so the stories had it, constructed in a single night by the legendary Rhyllian king Adavere Starwhisperer. They said that Adavere had fallen in love with a Rhannish woman the other side of the river, and sworn he would find a way to reach her. One night he took his Alvus wood violin to the banks of the river and began to play, until the very stars above were listening. Gradually they descended and gathered around him, bespelled by his skill, until the light spilled out of them like tears. And crafty Adavere had worked swiftly to gather up the light with his enchanted bow, fashioning a bridge from the illumination.
The stars had fled back to the heavens before he could finish, so the tale went, which was why the Humpback Bridge had no parapet. Ice-smooth and borderless, the bridge was both architectural marvel and certain death to all but the surest of feet.
And yet, it was the only possible place to sign the Peace Accords between Rhannon and Rhylla. The place the nations joined each other, entered each other, where neither side had the upper hand, or advantage of home territory.
But how could His Excellency, Harun Ventaxis, 104th chancellor of Rhannon, and First Warden of the Heart, be expected to climb it safely?
The Jedenvat – the Rhannish council – insisted that he could not cross it unless some way was found to temper the lethal stone. To which the new chancellor had coldly replied that they had better find a way, and fast. He had much to prove to his people. No bridge, no matter how deadly it was, would prevent that.
Until recently, the republic of Rhannon had been at war with the neighbouring kingdom of Rhylla, and the bridge barricaded and forgotten between them, for no general would even consider trying to send an army over it. Both countries were small, and ought to have been allies, but there were too many differences between the people that led to too many suspicions, fears and prejudices.
The people of Rhannon considered those of Rhylla to be immoral, hedonistic dreamers, while the citizens of Rhylla thought their southern counterparts were unromantic, bureaucratic and stiff. The Rhyllians pitied the Rhannish, and the Rhannish didn’t trust the Rhyllians. And that was aside from their fears about the so-called Rhyllian “abilities”, fabled to have arrived with the stars the same night the Humpback Bridge was formed.
In fact, war had simmered beneath their collective skins for so long it was almost a relief when it spilled out as blood on to cobbled streets and green fields.
But it kept spilling, and spilling, until fifty years had passed, with no sign of resolution. Citizens of both realms called it the Eternal War, with neither side believing there would ever be a winner.
Until the 103rd chancellor of Rhannon, Reuben “Windsword” Ventaxis, dropped dead during one of his numerous war councils. And just like that, change was, miraculously, in the air.
Well, as far as change ever went in Rhannon, for only the Ventaxis family were allowed to run for election. So the 104th chancellor would be Reuben’s only child: his scholarly, sullen son, Harun.
His first act in his new lifetime role as chancellor was, at the recommendation of his mother – now styled the Dowager First Lady – to write to the Rhyllian queen to end the war.
To the relief of both countries, Queen Melisia – who had tried to broker peace with Reuben, and his father before him, no less than thirty times – agreed immediately, ordering her troops to withdraw at once.
That was three months ago; and now Harun was preparing to travel to the bridge. There, at the peak, the Peace Accords would be signed, and the war would be officially, finally over.
Assuming, of course, the problem of the bridge could be solved.
It was touch and go, right up until the week before the meeting. The Mason’s Guild of Istevar, Rhannon’s capital city, had been consulted, cajoled, and the head mason even threatened with imprisonment if he couldn’t come up with some way to make their side of the bridge less treacherous. They’d tried scoring the stones with sandpaper, then with saws, but it had no effect; the lack of use and weathering had hardened the stone to a diamond-like state.
In the Summer Palace, on the bank of the Archior some five miles south-west of the bridge, Chancellor Harun paced up and down in his family’s private quarters, muttering to himself. His wife, Cerena, rubbing her belly to try to soothe the frantic child within, was exhausted just watching him. Her pregnancy hadn’t been easy, her ankles and fingers swollen constantly, the infant restless around the clock. It had been the same with her firstborn son, Mael, and he’d continued to be a hurricane child, never still for a moment.
Mael, who would turn three on the day of the Peace Accord signing, was currently sleeping, and Cerena had hoped for an hour or two of peace, to rest her legs and mind. Her husband, it seemed, had no such needs.
“Harun, you shall wear a hole in the carpet if you continue,” Cerena finally snapped.
The chancellor looked down at thick red pile out of reflex, but his rebuke died on his lips. He rushed across the room and gave Cerena the kind of kiss that threatened a third son in her belly before the year was out.
Taken aback, the first lady blushed. “Whatever was that for?”
“Carpets,” Harun beamed. “Carpets.”
In Rhylla, on the morning of the meeting, the pewter-eyed prince consort, Caspar, smiled at his wife, Queen Melisia, over breakfast. He waited until the serving staff had left them to their privacy before he spoke, in a voice pitched low and loving.
“All well?”
Melisia’s hands moved to her stomach, and she returned her husband’s smile. Cerena was not the only one with child, though Melisia and Caspar’s pregnancy was still a secret they alone shared. Melisia thought of the child inside her, and how good it was that there would be a peaceful world for her to grow up in.
Her half-brother, Vespus, had pushed her to press on, to defeat the Rhannish while they were in chaos after Reuben Windsword’s death, but she’d been glad when the warlord had died and his son had reached out to offer peace. It wasn’t cowardice that had made Melisia want peace – the queen herself was an excellent fighter – but the war had gone on for long enough. Now was the time to rebuild, and rejoice. To grow and nurture and create.
“All well, my love,” she replied. “All well.” She leant across the table, eyes fluttering closed as her lips parted. Caspar moved to meet her in the middle.